Total pages in book: 94
Estimated words: 87848 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 439(@200wpm)___ 351(@250wpm)___ 293(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 87848 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 439(@200wpm)___ 351(@250wpm)___ 293(@300wpm)
Beatrix stays standing with her eyes locked on him, not dropping eye contact. Duplante looks at me. I lean back in my chair, relaxed, with no intention of intervening in this moment. I, like everyone else, want to see what happens next.
“Don’t talk to anybody that way,” she says, her voice cold and even. As I thought, there’s no fear in her. No adrenaline to make her voice shake. She is focused on Duplante as a predator focused on her prey. “Especially not a woman.”
Duplante looks shocked, then he looks at me, as if I will save him from the humiliation. I give him a little Gallic shrug.
“Say. Sorry,” she says. No. Commands. In an instant, my frightened little mate has become a fierce alpha female. It is just as impressive as I imagined it would be. She has strength, this one, and the pack is seeing it. They are also seeing that I back her entirely.
I hide my mouth with a napkin in order to prevent my smile from being seen. I shouldn’t be laughing at this altercation. It’s not supportive to be smirking in the background.
Realizing I will not get him off the hook, Duplante shifts uncomfortably as many silent eyes watch him be stripped of his bravado and ego in one rakish cut of her tongue.
“Apologies, Lady Beatrix.”
“Not to me,” she hisses. “To the woman suffered with the burden of being your mate.”
“Oh. Uh. Of course. Sorry, Jenny.”
Only then does Beatrix sit. She seems immune to concern about the scene she has arguably just made, a pleasant dinner interrupted by small scandal that will be the talk of the pack for quite some time to come.
“Will the alpha’s new mate bestow baked goods upon us all this way?” Michael asks the question, giving into his nature to be irreverent and to lean into trouble where he finds it. As my younger cousin, he will get the brunt of the pack’s obsession with finding a mate now. I make a mental note to rib him for that sooner rather than later.
“I can, if you like,” Beatrix says, picking up another roll and hefting it in her hand, a slight smile on her face.
Michael is blond and blue-eyed and in his final year of university at Oxford. He’s down for the weekend, and will head back soon. I’m glad she is getting to meet the limited amount of biological family I have at the chateau. I was an only child, and my father’s older brothers perished in various ways, many of which were ascribed to him. Some said he’d do anything to be alpha of the pack. I think misfortune found his family more often than most. That seems to be the way of powerful families. Fate steps in to average the score.
“No, thank you,” he says. “I would not withstand the fury of your righteous correction.”
She smiles and puts the roll back down.
I have no doubt the orphanage was a miserable place to grow up, but I think the fact she lived with a lot of other young women has actually prepared her quite well for pack life. She knew, without being told, that she needed to establish herself, and she is not letting Michael pull any shit either. I’m quite impressed, and hopeful she will fit in easily here.
“I don’t see why that was necessary,” Duplante makes the mistake of muttering at a level that is audible to the table. I make a mental note to ensure that his place is moved much further down next meal. He clearly does not appreciate the responsibility of having the proximity he does, sitting mere seats away from us, right at the verge of family and true ranked members of the pack.
“You were rude to her,” Beatrix says. “You. A brute with untrimmed sideburns, rude to her, a goddess.”
There is a titter of amusement from around the table at her blunt, yet accurate description of Duplante and his mate.
“Manners are important for us all,” I remind him. If he opens his mouth again, it will go very poorly for him. I have already decided to address him after the meal. I don’t think his response has been nearly submissive enough, and I want him to know that no matter how young—and yes, even female—my mate might be, she must be respected.
Dinner proceeds without further interruption. People manage to eat without abusing their partners, which is pleasant. Beatrix has made her mark on the pack in an instant, and I could not be prouder of her.
Unfortunately for Duplante, his quick albeit reluctant apology at the table is not as genuine as it might have been. After dinner, I find him whining in one of the lounges, apparently either unaware or unconcerned that he might be overheard.
“That little whippet needs to be beaten,” he is complaining. “Barely more than a child, throwing food at her seniors and betters. If she were mine, she would have been horse-whipped right there and then, made to stand in the corner until her humiliation was complete. He’s going to spoil her. The pack will fall to ruin because of his permissiveness… ooof!”